Garbh Uisge, the roar of the rapids tainted the night. A dread sound that hollowed him, gouging an emptiness he doubted could ever be filled again.
Blocking his ears, he swore.
Then he clenched the reins so tightly his knuckles gleamed white. As did the moonlight spilling across the dark roll of the hills. Bright, slanting bands of shimmering silver, rippling on the night breeze, the beauty stilling his heart.
Especially when one of the iridescent silvery bands proved to have a most pleasing feminine form.
Jamie blinked.
Ne'er had he seen the like.
But he wouldn't be a Highlander if he didn't recognize the wonder before him. A sight as ancient as the rocks and heather, but so rare, his whole world tilted. His breath catching, he slid a hand behind him, curling his fingers into the scruffy fur at Cuillin's shoulders. "Saints o' mercy!" he marveled, his eyes widening. "A faery!"
There could be no doubt.
Only one of the Daoine Sithe could be so delicate and fair. More exquisite than any female of this earth, the fey beauty slipped through a moon-silvered glade, her dainty feet not seeming to touch the ground. Saints, she looked so tiny he doubted she'd come up to his chest were he to stand before her. Small-breasted and slight, she moved with a grace that bespoke lithe, slender legs. And she wore her hair unbound and flowing, a glistening sheaf of palest silk so beautiful he would've groaned did he not wish to risk drawing her attention.
But he did catch her scent on the chill night air.
A fragrance reminiscent of summer, violets, and fresh, dew-kissed green. Truth tell, she must've bespelled him.
Even watching her from a distance, Jamie was seized by an irresistible urge to ride after her and touch her moonlit hair. To tangle his fingers in its silkiness, seeing for himself if the shimmering strands felt as soft and glossy as they looked. See if her eyes really were the deep sapphire he suspected. And if the tips of her eyelashes would appear as if dipped in gold.
Perhaps he'd kiss her, too. If a mortal man could even touch such a creature. Jamie's brows snapped together at once, the spell broken. A hot flush swept up his neck and the racing of his heart began to slow. Big as he was and fragile as she looked, his very breath would likely bruise her. And his cheek for having such thoughts about a Sithe maid would surely land him in the depths of some faery knowe, bound by inescapable golden bonds. Or, equally unpleasant, see him plunged into a charmed sleep for a hundred years or more.
Such things were known to happen.
He shuddered, reached up to rub the back of his neck.
But then the moon vanished behind a cloud and when it reemerged, the broad sweeps of moor and hill loomed empty, the night still and quiet as it'd been.
"By glory!" He released his breath, peering hard at the little glade, but the faery was truly gone.
Nothing moved through the shadowy birches and scrub but the dark ribbon of a tumbling burn.
"Och, mercy me - did you see her, Cuillin?" He twisted around in the saddle and ruffled the old dog's ears, not missing that Cuillin's rheumy gaze remained on the very spot where the Sithe maid had disappeared.
Or that the old dog's tail was wagging.
Not that Jamie needed proof of what he'd seen.
Nor did he blame Cuillin for being smitten. The faery had been a vision of loveliness. Truth be told, she couldn't have been more beautiful had she been wrapped in cloth of gold and moonbeams, her shimmering hair dusted with stars. And thinking about it, he decided that was a reasonable description of her. He'd also wager she tasted of nectar and moon-spun temptation. He wasn't a man known for pretty words, only his great size and the skill of his sword arm. Yet this faery inspired him to such courtly verse.
Even so, he released her from his mind, his gaze falling on another glimmer of brightness. This one as earthy and real as the Highlands, welcome enough to flood him with memories. Bringing salvation, and again, the eye-stinging tightness of chest and throat that had plagued him every heather mile since leaving Cuidrach.
A malaise that worsened the farther north he'd ridden. Setting his jaw, he sat up straighter and swiped the dampness from his cheeks, his stare fixed on the thick, whitewashed walls of a small, hump-backed cot house just visible through a copse of